As the Clock Winds Down
by LadyVic
Summary: As one brother’s life hangs in the balance the other begins to understand the pain of being a helpless bystander as time runs out. Not all dangers are supernatural. Spoilers for AHBL.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** As one brother's life hangs in the balance the other begins to understand the pain of being a helpless bystander as time runs out. Not all dangers are supernatural. Takes place about three months after 'the deal'.

**A/N: **The original version of this story was written for a contest on the SFTCOL(AR)S board last summer. It became a bit AU as soon as Season 3 actually started, although the overall emotions turned out to be a decent guess about the direction the show was going. There was a 5000 word limit for the contest which kept the story down to bare bones. This is the _very_ fleshed out version. I'll probably end up posting it in about 3 chapters over the next week.

It's gotta be finished by then…because on Aug 1 I'm heading to Shenandoah…and Loft Mountain…and the Big Run trails…WOOHOO!! Anybody who read 'Hozho' knows why I'm so freaking excited!

Hope you like the story.

**Warnings**: Spoilers for AHBL. And the usual cursing.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story. Well, that and all the great people I've met in the fandom.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**As the Clock Winds Down Chapter 1**

Ripples spread out over the surface of the dark water as Sam moved down the flooded street. The term 'street' was a gross overstatement, implying a smoothly paved surface that would be easy to walk on even if it was covered by several feet of water. The surface under their feet was rutted and uneven, continually grabbing at their unwieldy boots and attempting to throw them headfirst into the floodwaters. Not for the first time, Sam regretted the need for the boots. They had filled to the brim as soon as the water had risen to his knees. Now, even when he stepped onto a dry surface he felt like his feet were swimming in a foot shaped fishbowl. The leader of the first rescue team that Sam and Dean attached themselves to had merely grunted at their complaints before gruffly explaining "Wet's better than bloody. No tellin' what shit's under the water."

The water had stopped rising, but every one of the volunteers working to evacuate the small hamlet knew it was just a temporary reprieve. A solid mass of storms had taken up residence in the skies over the region, Mother Nature thumbing her nose at the weather forecasters. The predictions had all called for the front to stall somewhere else, not over the quiet rural area of hills and valleys, farms and small communities. They weren't ready for the ten inches of rain that had poured down on them in twenty-four hours. There were no National Guard troops positioned to slog through the drenching rain and help people to escape from their homes when the water began to slowly but inexorably fill the valley. No federal Urban Search and Rescue teams were staged, waiting to swoop down and find the people in danger.

Instead, resources were stretched thin up and down the valley, with the majority of the heavy rescue efforts taking place in towns farther downstream where the flood levels were already high enough to threaten lives. In the areas where the flooding was, at least for now, less severe, they were scrambling for volunteers to help with evacuations. The National Guard _would_ get to them eventually, until then they were accepting assistance from every reasonably fit person who offered. Including a tall stranger who seemed driven to help, and the slightly less enthusiastic brother who shadowed his footsteps. Inexperienced, un-vetted, would-be rescuers were parceled out, joining search teams with more seasoned and trusted members.

Mother Nature was on a coffee break, but she was expected back with several more inches in a few hours. Sandbags and pumps had been brought in to ease the pressure against the old dam at the head of the valley, but all bets were off when it started to rain again. They all knew that as time moved on, the situation was edging from serious to critical.

Sam ran the wide beam of his flashlight over the trailer on his side of the street. A flash of red next to the front door caught his eye and he flipped the light off before scrubbing a hand tiredly over his face. Where an earlier crew had evacuated someone a large red X was spray painted near the door. The residents who had managed to evacuate on their own were also asked to mark their homes. Not everyone had bright paint on hand, and crews had seen everything from red tablecloths nailed to door frames to red T shirts tied around knobs. It wasn't foolproof, but it did save the search crews some time. "House is marked empty," he called out, grimacing at the way his voice wavered with exhaustion.

"This one too." Dean's voice from across the street was cold and clipped, and Sam spared a glance in that direction. His brother's figure was just an outline, backlit by his own flashlight beam. Sam didn't need light to know Dean was still royally pissed. Dean had morphed from brotherly concern to outright anger when he woke from a catnap to find his little brother had managed to avoid a mandatory rest period by sneaking out with a second rescue team. Their current team was Sam's third.

Sam hunched his shoulders under his flimsy rain slicker and repressed a shudder. The front ushering in the new round of rain was a bit cooler than the sultry warmth that had been blanketing them. Warm water covered him to mid-thigh, but sweat, splashed water, and the earlier rain had conspired to dampen his shirt, and goosebumps chased their way across his stomach.

Dawn was filtering through the clouds in the eastern half of the sky, making it easier to see without the flashlights. His eyes swept the small trailer park around them, the sharp pull of urgency churning his gut. They were playing beat the clock and he hadn't had a lot of success in that game lately. The small homes around them were dark and silent islands rising out of the water that stretched in every direction. Islands that would turn into floating matchsticks if the dam went. Scattered points of illumination in the gloom marked the locations of the other members of their team. They didn't look like much against the partially submerged landscape.

A sense of helplessness washed over him. There wasn't enough time. That was the story of his life over the past three months. Not enough time. Sam lowered his head and forced his leaden legs into action, pushing against the drag of the water. He kept pace with Dean as they leapfrogged past the men checking the next two houses on the street. "Anything, Percy?" he asked as he passed the heavyset man on his side of the street.

Percy stopped next to the home's mostly submerged mailbox, pulling off his truckee hat and perching it carefully on the box's flat top, just inches above the water. He pulled a worn blue bandana from his slicker's breast pocket and used it to mop the sweat off his face before running it over the top of his brush cut. "Nope. Empty. Thank the Lord most everbody got themselves out."

Sam nodded and kept walking. Yep, thank the Lord for people who were able to help themselves. Who were _willing_ to help themselves.

Sam's eyes narrowed when he reached the next property and he switched the flashlight back on. The tips of the picket fence edging the front yard looked like a row of even white teeth studding the water. A wooden ramp rose up out of the water against the trailer, ending at a small deck in front of the door. It was the type of visual clue they'd been instructed to look for, an indication that the resident might have had trouble getting out on their own. He ran the flashlight beam over the side of the neatly kept trailer, stopping the sweep of the light and bringing it back to zero in on a paler spot that caught his eye. A small face was pressed against the glass, perfectly still as though it had just been waiting patiently for him to arrive. It disappeared back into the darkness behind the window as soon as Sam reached down into the water, his fingers fumbling to find and release the latch on the wide gate in the center of the fence. The trailer's door was opening by the time Sam's foot hit the bottom of the ramp.

A little boy stood in the doorway when Sam reached the deck. He had already pulled rubber rain boots on over his Osh Kosh sweatpants and a yellow raincoat trailed from his hand. He looked up at Sam with wide eyes. "Mister, you here to help us? My Nana said somebody'ed come. You gonna help us?"

The flashlight beam cut through the dark behind the child and Sam could see an elderly woman in a wheelchair, her hands clasped tightly around a set of rosary beads and her face wreathed in smiles.

He turned his head and bellowed over his shoulder. "Perce! We need the boat!"

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

She introduced herself as Miss Abby while they waited, and smiled proudly when her great-grandson Simon shook Sam's hand with a solemnity that was beyond most six year olds. When Sam asked if they had an 'evacuation pack' ready, Simon had nodded a quick "Yes, sir, we do." and begun to drag an already sealed plastic tub closer to the door.

Miss Abby was light in his arms when he carefully scooped her out of her chair and began to carry her towards the waiting flat bottomed canoe. Behind him he could hear Doug, another member of the team, folding up her wheelchair according to Simon's instructions.

"That's some boy," Sam commented as he slowly waded down into the water covering the ramp. The boat was waiting outside of the submerged fence.

She shook her head but her smile was still proud. "That child has gotten it into his head that he needs to take care of me. I told him to leave with Mrs. Garrity next store…or even Old Phil down the street…when the water started to rise, but he said if they couldn't get me out too, then he wasn't goin' nowhere. He just folded his little arms and flat out refused." She chuckled softly. "I don't know if I should tan his hide or hug him till he turns blue. I expect his momma and poppa are gonna feel the same way."

Sam lifted her a little higher in his arms as the water edged up his legs and cleared the sudden thickness from his throat before replying. "I think I'd go with the hugging. He was probably scared but he stuck to his guns and did what he thought was right to help you."

"Oh, I know that, and I'm so proud of him I could burst. But that little boy's got a lot of people that love him and need him, and he's gotta learn that it ain't like them cartoons he's so fond of. Sometimes it ain't the right thing to try and be a hero. Sometimes you got to be brave and think about all them other people that need you instead of doing something that could get you hurt. Lord knows, that's a tough lesson for a little fellow like him to understand, but he's gotta learn it. I'm an old woman. I've lived my life. It just don't make sense that he coulda been hurt because he was trying help me."

Sam walked carefully across the flooded yard, worried that a misstep would land the frail woman in the water. "Well, Miss Abby, I think when you're trying to decide if you should punish him or give him that hug, just think about how he'd have felt if he left with the neighbors and then you got hurt here all by yourself. He might've had to grow up wondering if he could have saved you." She stiffened slightly in his arms and his cheeks burned as he ducked his face away with a mumbled "Sorry if I overstepped." Who the hell did he think he was giving someone advice on raising a kid? He was here to help this lady, not take his own issues out on her. He placed her carefully on a bench seat in the canoe and stepped quickly away as a rescue worker in the boat got her settled securely.

When it was time to carry Simon to the boat the boy perched on Sam's hip, his head held high as though he was supervising the rescue efforts around him. "Listen," Sam said quietly as they moved down the ramp. "You did good looking after your Nana. If you weren't at the window I don't know if we would have found her. If your family is mad at you it's because they were scared you might get hurt. Just remember to be proud of yourself and the way you did what you thought was right and helped your Nana."

He didn't care if he was overstepping. Somebody had to make sure this kid knew that looking after your family was the right thing to do, even when they fought you on it.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam waited for the sense of elation that he knew he should be feeling as he handed the child to the smiling rescuer in the boat, but all he felt was empty. Every rescue, every job they did lately…he kept waiting for a save that would ease the hole growing inside of him. He turned away as soon as the small boy was settled on the seat next to his Nana and looked for Dean and the other members of his team.

They were close to the end of the street, gathered in a loose circle around Percy. The beefy team leader was nodding his head, as though responding to something coming over the small portable radio held up to his mouth. A couple of high fives were exchanged in the group around him and a small man with bushy red hair turned to Sam with a huge grin as he waded closer. The water that was up to the top of Sam's thighs reached almost to Jake's waist. "Did you hear that, Sammy boy? The Guard is taking over. Whooo boy! I got a hot shower and a big cuppa coffee calling me!"

Sam avoided his brother's eyes and looked to Percy for confirmation. The big man nodded his head and grinned. "They're pulling us in and taking over the water operations."

"What about the rest of these houses?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice calm. The chasm inside of him was yawning ever wider. "We're right here. Shouldn't we at least finish them up?"

It was a telling testament to his exhaustion that Sam didn't even notice his brother moving closer. He was surprised when Dean's hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"This neighborhood is clear Sam," his brother said evenly. "The rest of the teams are already heading back."

"But what about the…" Sam trailed off when his brother's hand tightened harshly on his shoulder. Dean's message was loud and clear.

_It's done Sam. Give it up._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean pulled the Impala's heavy door open and slid onto the smooth leather with a contented sigh. Sam was already in the car, his hair still damp from a hasty shower in the high school-cum-evacuation center. He glanced in Dean's direction and slid lower in his seat, turning slightly away. It took Dean a moment to realize Sam had his cell phone pressed to his ear and was listening intently to someone.

Dean sipped from the cardboard coffee cup in his hand, enjoying the warmth of the liquid as it trailed down his throat. It wasn't cold out, but the thermometer had dropped a few more degrees. The slight drop combined with hours of wet clothing had left Dean chilled to the bone before his shower, and Sam in even worse shape. His brother didn't complain, but Sam had been pale and shivering by the time they climbed onto dry land. It was his own fault. Dean had at least taken advantage of the chance to rest and warm up when their first team had been pulled into rehab. Unlike his bone-headed brother, who had snuck off like a rebellious teenager. It was also his own fault if he was still cold. He definitely hadn't been in the shower long enough to completely chase the chill away.

"Okay…yeah…Thanks, Bobby." Sam flipped the phone shut and slid it into his pants pocket. He remained slouched in his seat, staring forward. The muscle on the side of his jaw was jumping.

"So, what did Bobby want?" Dean asked with a forced smile. He would not be pulled into whatever hissy fit his brother was working himself up to.

"Nothing. I called him." Sam sat up in the seat and turned to face Dean, his face tensing in preparation for a fight. "We have to head to New York. Bobby knows a man there who's got a copy of an ancient grimoire from—"

"No." Dean's grip started to dent the sides of the coffee cup but he kept his voice calm.

"We're going, Dean!" Sam's mouth pursed and his eyes narrowed, sure harbingers of the oncoming Sammy storm. "It could be exactly what I've been looking for! It was written at the same time as the Grand Grimoire and Bobby said—"

Heat flooded Dean's body and his eyes narrowed in anger. "What part of 'no' don't you get, Sam?" he bit out.

Sam's cheeks flushed red and he clenched his hands into fists. "Damn it, Dean! Don't you care about this? Why won't you let me help you?" He stared at Dean, his breath coming hard and fast as he worked himself up. He lashed out suddenly, banging his fist against the dashboard.

Dean raised his eyebrows at the unprovoked attack on his baby but kept his mouth shut. Sam looked like an overtired toddler working his way up to a full blown tantrum. He'd handled them when Sam was two, he hadn't expected to still be handling them over twenty years later.

"What is it with you, man?! At first I thought you just wanted to blow off a little steam before we got down to work! But you're still…you're still… You've stood in my way every time I came up with a lead! Hell, I still think you sabotaged us meeting with that old friend of Pastor Jim's that Ellen told us about!"

"We're not having this conversation now, Sam," Dean said coldly. "We're both tired and I don't want to get into it with you right now. I'm _not going to_ get into it with you right now."

"Well I _want_ to get into it!" Sam exploded. "Three months! It's been three months, Dean, and we're no closer…" He trailed off and wiped a shaking hand across his face. When he began speaking again his voice was low, shaking. "For three months I've gone along with your partying, and your one night stands. I haven't said anything about the way you've done everything you could to stop me from helping you. Do you know how it's killing me that I haven't come up with a way to save my own brother? It doesn't matter how many other people I help," he waved his hand at the evacuees milling around near the school. "It doesn't mean anything if I can't help you."

Dean tore his eyes away from his brother and looked out the windshield. The pain on his brother's face was too raw. He _would not_ regret what he had done. He _would not_ feel guilty about it.

"Pulling stunts like you did here, Sam? That doesn't help me. Getting yourself killed doing something stupid won't void the contract." He'd seen Sam pushing himself unmercifully and taking more and more risks trying to save others. Deep down he'd understood why, and he'd hoped the increasingly reckless behavior would stop once Sam accepted the inevitable. He should have known not to underestimate his brother's stubbornness. But enough was enough. This had to stop. "Now you want to go chasing around the country…The crossroads bitch will drop you in your tracks at the first whisper that I'm trying to get out of the deal, Sam. I'm not going to let that happen."

Sam's voice was low and pleading. "Maybe I don't care Dean. If she's coming for you no matter what, then maybe I don't want to be here to see it. I just…I can't do this without you. You're not the only one who's tired, Dean."

Dean's eyes flew back to Sam's face, searching for some hint that his brother was just being dramatic to make a point. He couldn't actually mean it. He'd tried not to look too closely at his brother's face for the last couple of months. He didn't want to have to acknowledge the pallor that was growing, the darkening smudges under his eyes. What he saw now scared him. Sam was starting to look beat down. Dean would like to blame it on the exhaustion of the last several hours, but he knew there was a lot more to it than that. "Don't you say that Sam," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Don't you make it all be for nothing. Please, Sammy, don't you do that to me."

Sam's jaw clenched tight for just a second before he visibly deflated. His shoulders slumped and he slid back down in the seat. He turned away and rested his forehead against the car window. He looked so defeated that a hard spear of guilt ran through Dean's chest. He reached out to lay his hand on Sam's shoulder but stopped before making contact, pulling his hand back and reaching for the car keys instead. Eventually Sammy would be okay. He was stronger than he gave himself credit for. He'd survive. Dean believed that. He had to.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The Impala's tires moved over the rain slicked road with a low pitched hum. Sam hadn't moved since they started driving, keeping his back to Dean and his forehead resting against the side window. Dean had left the radio off and put the heat on, hoping that the warmth and the quiet would lull his brother to sleep. God knew, the kid could use some rest.

Dean had found a county road that traced a circuitous route up the outside slope of the low mountain range that hemmed the east side of the valley. The route continued to the north, etched into the side of the hills. It probably wasn't the most direct or quickest way out of the area, but Dean ignored the side roads that would have taken him down the slope and onto a highway. Being outside of the valley was no guarantee that low lying areas weren't under water. Red Cross workers at the high school had carried tales of washed out and flooded roads throughout the region. Even the hillside route showed the effects of the earlier downpours. In some areas Dean had to maneuver carefully past debris that had been washed down onto the road.

He sighed when Sam shifted in his seat, first his head lifting alertly and then the rest of his body straightening up. So much for Sam sleeping. Sam turned in his seat as they drove, obviously trying to get a better look at something they were passing. The stretch of slope below them was barren and muddy, and Dean couldn't see what had caught his brother's eye.

"Dean! Stop the car!" Sam's hands were scrabbling to open the door before the words were fully out of his mouth. Dean jammed on the brakes, cursing as he fought the Impala's desire to perform pirouettes on the wet road.

Sam threw the door open and jumped out as soon as the car's slide ended. He slammed the door shut without a word and began trotting back along the shoulder of the road, finally stopping about ten yards behind the Impala.

Dean watched in astonishment, his hands still clutching the wheel in a white knuckled grip. As soon as his heart slowed down he was going to drive off and leave the idiot to walk. Better yet, he'd throttle him first. He grabbed the gearshift with an abrupt jerk and the tires squealed as the car flew backwards, passing his brother before he slammed his foot onto the brakes and threw it into park. An angry twist of his wrist quieted the motor's rumble before he exploded out of the car, his hands fisted at his sides.

"SAM! WHAT THE HELL—" He broke off when his brother stepped off the edge of the road, completely oblivious to Dean's tirade.

"Dean, there's a car down there!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Dean stepped onto the thin strip of rocky dirt between the blacktop and the dropoff and watched as Sam moved down the slope. A dark gray sedan was resting in the mud almost seventy-five yards below them. From the looks of the slope and the damage to the car it had rolled at least once. The driver's door was hanging open but it was impossible to tell from the road if anyone was inside.

"Sam, be careful," Dean yelled, earning a quick over the shoulder wave from his brother.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The surface of the slope was slick mud and Sam held his arms out to the sides, trying to keep his balance as his feet kept sliding under him. Just jumping right onto it in his rush to get to the banged up car might not have been one of his smartest moves. It would only have taken a couple of minutes to get a rope out of the Impala's trunk and tie it to some type of anchor. Maybe Dean was right about him being stupidly reckless lately. Sam's mind pulled back from those thoughts like they were a live wire. Now wasn't the time for distractions.

Sam tried to slow his descent, but the loose mud under him took away any semblance of control he might have had. It reminded him a little of the couple of times he had tried skiing. Memories of the twisted ankle he'd suffered on the ski slopes decided him on the best way to slow down. If it worked in the snow, it should work in the mud. He plopped himself down on his butt and grimaced at the feel of the chilly, slimy, mud oozing under him. Well, it beat the full body mud bath he would have been taking if he'd fallen. And it worked, halting his downward slide.

He climbed carefully to his feet, not wanting to even look over his shoulder to see his brother's expression. Dean was going to have a field day with this one. He continued picking his slow way down the slope, ending up on his butt two more times despite his best efforts to control his descent.

It was easy to see the damage to the car when he got closer. The back corner of the roof was pushed in, the back window completely gone. The roof rack was distorted, and the side of the car that Sam could see was a mess of dents and scratches. There was some mud on the car's body, especially caught in the nooks and crannies around the rack, but not as much as you would expect after a roll down the slope. The accident must have happened hours before, during the previous round of storms. The rain had washed most of the mud away.

If a victim was in the car, the long delay before they were found wasn't good for their chance of survival. It was not reassuring that he had seen no signs of movement yet.

"Is there anybody in there?" Dean's voice carried easily down the slope, his impatience easy to hear.

"I can't—" Sam turned slightly to yell an answer back up the slope, and felt his feet slipping out from under him again. He windmilled his arms trying to stay upright and had to make a mad grab for the open driver's door when he almost slid past the car. Dean's laughter echoed down the slope and Sam lifted his right hand to deliver a one fingered reply as soon as his feet seemed to be listening to his brain's orders again.

He braced himself against the door frame and leaned into the car, checking the front and rear of the passenger compartment. There was surprisingly little damage to the interior other than the pushed in roof in the back. There was a small smear of blood on the deflated airbag, but no signs of any serious bleeding. Loose change, papers, CDs, an empty travel mug…items were strewn around the car as though they had been thrown like confetti. The one thing most decidedly missing was any type of victim.

Looked like whoever had been in the car had managed to walk away. Sam backed out of the car, straightening up with a small smile. It was better than finding someone beyond help.

"Well?" Dean yelled.

Sam rubbed at the back of his neck and gave an embarrassed shrug. "It's empty." His mad dash through the mud to 'save' someone was starting to look like one of his dumber ideas. His eyes ran over the expanse of mud above him. How the hell was he planning on making it back up the slope? His gaze stopped somewhere near Dean's feet. He really didn't want to look up at his brother. Even if he couldn't make out Dean's expression clearly, his stance was usually pretty good at communicating his thoughts at times like this. And right now Dean was probably using his entire body to scream 'my brother is an idiot and now I've got figure out how to haul his worthless butt back up here'.

"Dude! You're not getting in my car like that!"

Sam's shoulders slumped in relief. Dean was laughing at him, but that sure beat angry. He just didn't have the energy for another argument. And maybe if they could laugh at something, together, then he could get Dean to open up to him and they could start working together to figure something out. Because the alternative… What he'd said to Dean wasn't an exaggeration. If he was supposed to just sit back and watch while the demon came for Dean, not lift a finger to help…well, he didn't know if he could survive being around to see that. One step at a time. And the first thing was to get the two of them back on the same page.

He looked down at himself and there was nothing forced about it when he began to laugh. Thick brown mud coated him from the waist down, wet clumps of it dripping off of him to splat onto the slime under his feet every time he moved. His top half was only marginally better. Mud had splattered up on him every time he landed on his butt. He could even feel dots of it on his cheeks. His clothes, his sneakers, his jacket…they were all going to have to be hosed off before they could even go into a washing machine. And he had no doubts his brother was going to make him strip down on the side of the road and put on cleaner clothes before letting him within touching distance of the car.

Amazingly enough, the only clean spots on him appeared to be his hands. How he had managed the entire trip down the slope without once putting his hands in the mud he didn't know. He held them out to his sides and began to grin up at Dean. He admitted it. He deserved whatever abuse his brother wanted to heap on him.

His grin faltered when there was a slight rolling sensation under his feet. He looked around in confusion as he began to sway in place. He placed his hands on the car, but the move did little to steady him as his feet slid sideways and he was thrown solidly against the hood. It was instinct to look up to his brother. Dean would know what was going on.

His eyes travelled up the slope and a solid wall of fear slammed into him.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean could feel it through his feet. A low vibration that built to a rumble. The edge of the road in front of him began to bow downwards and there was a loud crack as a fissure tore its way through the blacktop. He watched in numb horror as a section of the road just fell away, almost in slow motion. He had the irrational urge to run forward, to grab it, to hold it in place, to jump in front of it and hold it up. His heart lurched painfully when the reality hit him, there was nothing he could do but watch as the broken section began to slide down the hill. The horror increased exponentially when he realized it wasn't just the road. An entire section of the hillside was sliding downwards.

"SAMMY! GET OUT OF THERE!" Even as he shouted, Dean realized there was no place for Sam to go. A pit opened in his chest and his vision wavered. Just for a second he was back on a muddy street in South Dakota and his baby brother was on his knees, the light leaving his eyes. The scene before him crashed back into focus and his breath left his chest in a gut-wrenching roar. "SAAAAAM!"

Sam scrambled onto the hood of the car and wrapped his hand around a piece of the roof rack just moments before the mud hit. The torrent of liquefied soil worked its way completely around the car. The gray sedan shuddered and then began to lift, shaking violently and throwing Sam from side to side. The mudslide picked it up and swept it down the hillside, farther and farther away from where Dean stood on the side of the road, stunned and helpless.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N **I'm all for promoting a contest that celebrates our Sammy (and Dean!), so I'm going to repeat the info I posted with Highwayman about the SFTCOL(AR)S first annual LimpSam awards, with one important change. The deadline for nominations has been extended to Aug 1.

The contest includes categories for fics, graphics, and vids. We love both brothers—c'mon, the magic of the show is their relationship—but Dean already has such a huge cadre of devoted and passionate 'Dean' fans that the board is just trying to give lil bro a boost and promote the wonder that is Sammy. But we're definitely 'bi-bro', so there are categories that are Dean heavy also.

If you go to the SFTCOL(AR)S forum, the "Limp!Sam Awards" category is in the **Asylum** section. The link is posted in my profile. Definitely check the contest out and think about any favorites you'd like to see nominated. It's a ton of fun just revisiting stories you've loved with the list of categories next to you!

Nominations are being taken until August 1, and then the top nominees will be posted on the board. You should definitely check it out to find stories, graphics, and vids that may have somehow passed you by, and then vote for your favorites. What a great way to ease ourselves through summer hiatus!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** As one brother's life hangs in the balance the other begins to understand the pain of being a helpless bystander as time runs out. Not all dangers are supernatural. Originally written before the start of season 3 for a SFTCOL(AR)S contest and now revised. Takes place about three months after 'the deal'.

**A/N: **Thank you so very very much to everyone who has taken an interest in this story. You have no idea how much the reviews and the story alerts mean to me.

**Warnings**: Spoilers for AHBL. And the usual cursing.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story. Well, that and all the great people I've met in the fandom.

From Chapter 1:

_Dean could feel it through his feet. A low vibration that built to a rumble. The edge of the road in front of him began to bow downwards and there was a loud crack as a fissure tore its way through the blacktop. He watched in numb horror as a section of the road just fell away, almost in slow motion. He had the irrational urge to run forward, to grab it, to hold it in place, to jump in front of it and hold it up. His heart lurched painfully when the reality hit him, there was nothing he could do but watch as the broken section began to slide down the hill. The horror increased exponentially when he realized it wasn't just the road. An entire section of the hillside was sliding downwards…_

…_Sam scrambled onto the hood of the car and wrapped his hand around a piece of the roof rack just moments before the mud hit. The torrent of liquefied soil worked its way completely around the car. The gray sedan shuddered and then began to lift, shaking violently and throwing Sam from side to side. The mudslide picked it up and swept it down the hillside, farther and farther away from where Dean stood on the side of the road, stunned and helpless._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**As the Clock Winds Down Chapter 2**

Sam fought to keep his right hand clamped around the mangled roof rack as he was thrown violently from side to side. If the grinding pain in it was any indication, something in his hand was broken again. Loosened rocks and small boulders rode the top of the mud like pieces of wood tossed into a stormy sea, battering the sides of the car and smashing the windows. The car hit a hidden obstruction and swung sideways across the flow with a tortured groan. It shuddered to a stop and Sam's body slewed across the mud-slicked hood until he was lying across the windshield with his legs hanging over the side. He gasped at the blinding pain that shot from his abused hand straight to his shoulder, and then found himself coughing and spitting out the mud that tried to fill his mouth.

It washed over the top of the car and Sam turned his face away, trying to keep it from his nose and mouth. It was an overwhelming force pushing against his body, trying to tear his grip from the rack. The car began to lift under him, tilting sideways, and Sam was hit with the realization that if the car rolled completely onto its side his dangling legs would be crushed under it. He did the only thing he could. He let go.

It was the waterslide from Hell. He landed a few feet from the car and fought to stay upright. Stressed metal creaked, and he looked up to see the car on its side, looming over him. He didn't have time to panic before a surge of mud caught him and propelled him backwards as the car came down. The heavy vehicle slammed into the slimy surface less than two feet away and the powerful wave of mud it generated shoved Sam to the side, ironically saving him as the bulk of the car swept by him.

He struggled to keep his head and shoulders clear of the churning mess and twisted his body to face forward. There was little he could do to protect himself from the debris in the mudflow except use his arms to deflect some of it from his face and head. He grunted in pain as rocks and small chunks of the broken roadway pummeled his back and shoulders and scraped his ribs.

A vicious blow across the stomach drove the air from his lungs. His vision began to white out and he sank lower in the mud. He panicked when it washed over the top of his shoulders and frantically stretched his neck to keep his face out of the suffocating quagmire. Forces beyond his control shoved his body forward, down the slope, tugging and pushing at him in an unending torture until the only thing left was his instinct to survive. The world narrowed to the roaring in his ears and the burn in his chest as he struggled to breathe.

He didn't know how long it took before he realized that he was no longer moving. That the air around him had settled into an eerie stillness. He was too exhausted to open his eyes and see the slow spread of the mud past him as it turned a low lying field into a swamp. His feet touched solid ground and the level of mud around his body dropped, but his mind was wrapped in so many layers of cotton that he couldn't bring himself to care.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean wasn't sure how he managed to get the Impala turned around without sending the big black car down the slope. Maneuvering the car was something he did on autopilot while his conscious mind was busy trying to remember just how far back that last side road had been. Absolutely no part of his mind wanted to deal with the images burned into his brain—the gray sedan, far down the slope, tipping onto its side and then slamming down onto its roof. Where Sam had been.

He would chase the mud flow to the next state and dig through every square inch of it by hand to find his brother if he had to.

The road that wound down the slope came up quickly on his left and he hit the brakes as he spun the wheel. The back of the big car fishtailed and he coaxed it, praised it, prayed to it, until he felt the tires grip again and he was barreling down the hill. The world was distorted around him, the blacktop unspooling much too slowly under his racing tires, the seconds on his watch slipping past like lightning. Each second that passed dimming his brother's chances a little more.

A wide intersection opened up before him when he reached the bottom of the hill and he sent a silent thank you to whoever might be listening that he didn't have to waste time looking for a route that would hug the base of the slope. The roads that he had avoided earlier were now a godsend, leading him directly to where he needed to go.

The road was desolate, surrounded by fields of scrubby underbrush and empty in both directions. His mouth went dry when his goal came into sight, a newly created swamp of mud that butted up against the road's earthen embankment.

Dean's eyes were scanning the sea of mud before he even stopped the Impala. His hands began to shake at the sight of unmoving lumps, unrecognizable shapes coated with mud and too still to be his brother. Pieces of wood and debris jutted out of the slime in places, different color patches against the uniform brownish grey. He wouldn't even let himself consider the possibility that Sam was somewhere underneath the surface, not even visible.

His eyes rested on a mud colored hulk larger than the other pieces of debris. The sedan. Dean ran along the edge of the road, his legs wobbly under him, getting closer to the spot where the crashed car had come to rest. He stopped dead before he reached it, a small patch of dark brown catching his eye and making his knees go weak. Sam was there, encased in the mud up to his chest, his head hanging.

"SAM! SAMMY!"

Sam remained still and Dean began his own slide, off of the berm and down the slight embankment to the edge of the mud. It wasn't that far, not really. He could get to Sam and just help him back to the road. There was a lot of mud, but it didn't cover Sam's whole head, it didn't look like it covered his face. He'd lift his head and start bitching at Dean any second.

The calming thoughts played on a constant loop in Dean's mind as he stepped into the edge of the mud. "Sam! C'mon buddy, let me know you hear me. Look at me. C'mon Sam! Look at me!"

By the time he was far enough beyond the edge for the mud to reach his ankles Dean knew this was going to be a lot harder than he thought. It fought his attempts to lift his legs, sucking at his feet each time he tried to move them. If his boots hadn't been tied securely up to his ankles they would have pulled right off. Just plowing forward without lifting his feet was no better, pushing through the mud felt like trying to wade through heavy wet concrete.

By the time the mud reached almost to his knees, he knew that getting to his brother without help would be impossible. Moving each leg was a struggle, the mud an oozing and clingy weight determined to hold him still. And Sam was sunk into this quagmire up to his chest. "SAM! You hearing me Sammy?"

A warm rush went through him when Sam's head gave a small jerk and then began to slowly lift. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and held his breath before looking at the display. A relieved sigh escaped his lips as he punched in 911. Whatever was blocking his signal on the side of the hill was gone. "Hang in there buddy. I'm gonna get us some help."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The world around Dean was an unending gray—the expanse of gray mud and soggy fields bled into the low gray clouds. It felt like the very air around him was washed with the lifeless color. When the flashes of red appeared in the distance they were alive and vibrant. They were his hope, his brother's salvation.

"Sam! Cavalry's almost here!" Dean paced restlessly, splitting his attention between the quiet figure in the mud and the quickly approaching red lights. "We'll have you out of there in no time!" Sam's head barely moved in response, but it was enough to let Dean know his brother had heard him.

Dean stood in place as the lights neared, his fragile control over a desperate need to be _doing_ something barely holding. He had had to stand helplessly and just watch when awareness of his situation had filtered into his brother's mind. He couldn't reach Sam to calm him when he began to struggle weakly, trying to free himself from his soggy prison. Dean didn't know if it was the soothing words he yelled across the expanse separating them, or merely exhaustion, that finally worked to still the frantic movements as Sam's chin had sunk back towards his chest.

The wail of the approaching siren swelled as it got closer, taking Dean's heart rate with it. He rocked from heel to toe, his head swiveling back and forth between the rescue vehicle coming his way and his brother.

A red Yukon skidded to a stop in front of him. Its siren died away but the red lights on top continued to pulsate in the gray morning. The shock on Dean's face was mirrored by the driver when he climbed out.

"Percy?!"

"Dean?!" The big man looked across the mud and scowled. "Aaah…crap. Sam."

"What are you—"

"I'm the chief out this way. Me and the boys were just helping out in valley. How's he doing?"

"I don't know." Dean couldn't hide behind a glib answer when Sam's safety was at stake, but putting his doubt into words brought it home with a force that clawed at his insides. He was surprised at the shakiness of his own voice and he broke off, clearing his throat and giving himself a second to get it under control. It was steadier, stronger, when he continued. "He's awake but he's not talking."

Percy eyed the mud coating Dean's legs from the knees down. "You tried to get to him?"

"Yeah," Dean admitted with a weak smile. "Didn't get too far."

Percy scowled at him. "Good thing. We'd a had to get you out before we got Sam." He nodded at the mud covered sedan. "You told dispatch there was nobody in the car, right?"

Dean shook his head. "No, Sam had a chance to check before…" He ran his hand over his face and just shook his head again. "So how do we haul his ass out of there?" His stomach dropped when Percy frowned.

"I know you boys, and I think you want this straight. No sugarcoating." Percy pursed his lips and his eyes narrowed as they ran over Sam's position and the mud surrounding him. Dean was practically vibrating with impatience by the time Percy nodded to himself and then turned to face him. "Okay, so here it is. No sugarcoating. We're fighting time. The rain is already coming down westa here, we don't know how banged up Sam is, and hypothermia is an issue." He spoke briskly, the bluff 'good ole boy' that he'd worn for much of their time in the valley replaced by a no-nonsense professional.

"A little sugarcoating wouldn't hurt," Dean muttered.

"Here's where we stand. Lotta equipment's tied up in valley, but the feds're sending a rescue chopper. Quickest thing is ta lift him out." He shook his head at Dean's hopeful expression. "IF it works. That mud can compact like cement."

Dean ran his hand over the top of his head as his eyes drifted to his brother. Sam was too still. "If it doesn't work?" he asked quietly.

"Then I've got plan B in the works too." Percy gave a reassuring grin. "This kinda rescue can be tough on the victim but I've seen Sam in action, and he strikes me as a fighter. He's got his whole life in front of him. He ain't gonna give up, and that's one of the biggest things we got going for us."

Percy's words, meant to be encouraging, reverberated in Dean's ears and his hands began to shake. Once upon a time he would have had no doubt that his brother would fight hard to survive. Now he wasn't sure if Sam believed there was anything left to fight for.

SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

An engine arrived not long after Percy and Dean was happy to see a number of familiar faces climbing out of the high crew cab. He and Sam had worked with these men 'in valley', he knew they were good men. Jake, Doug, Quincy—they had each taken just a second to show their support, clasping Dean's shoulder, making reassuring noises that 'Sam was gonna be fine'. Dean realized that Sam wasn't a 'civilian' to them. The brothers had proven themselves to this crew, had worked by their side. That made this rescue personal. They were saving one of their own.

A white SUV carrying two paramedics had arrived just after the engine, an ambulance not far behind them. Percy assured Dean that more personnel and equipment were on their way, including the trench rescue unit from a neighboring town.

Dean ignored the arriving crews, tuning out the activity on the road behind him. They were 'Plan B'. He prayed that the great majority of the personnel and equipment wouldn't be needed, that the key to saving Sam was already hovering over their heads. His eyes fixed on the jumpsuit clad man descending on a line from the helicopter suspended in the air above Sam.

"So they'll lift him and just bring him to us here, right?" Dean bounced on the balls of his feet, desperate to help. Sitting on the sidelines while other people saved his brother was eating an ulcer into his stomach. He needed to have Sam right in front of him, to look him over, to make sure he was going to be okay. He needed to be a part of this.

"Yep, then the medics'll get him packaged so he's ready when the bird gets here." Percy stood at his elbow, watching the rescue attempt closely. "Keep your fingers crossed," he murmured softly. "If the mud is too compacted already this ain't gonna work."

"It's the quickest way to get him out, right?"

"Yep."

"Then we've gotta try."

Dean lowered his gaze to find his brother's eyes locked on him. Sam had perked up a bit with the onslaught of activity, he seemed aware of what was going on around him. Aware, but maybe not really understanding it. Because it didn't seem to matter to Sam that Dean was standing on the sidelines, not lifting a finger to help. Every time Dean caught Sam's eyes on him he could feel the trust, feel the rock solid belief that Sam had in Dean's abilities to get him out of this mess. He was grateful for his brother's faith in him, grateful that it gave him a way to comfort his brother even though he couldn't get near him…but it cut deep to know the reality. That it was out of Dean's hands.

He felt like a fraud when he gave his brother a thumbs up, but it was worth it when he received one in return. He needed Sam to believe that things were under control, that this would be over soon. Dean hadn't missed the occasional grimaces, the sluggishness of Sam's movements. Even before the heavy thump of the helicopter's rotors directly overhead had cut off all verbal communication Sam's attempts to talk were too weak to be heard. It just wasn't right. Sam never had trouble making himself heard.

Dean shook off the worry. It was gonna be okay. Soon enough Sam would be right in front of him and he could see for himself that the injuries were minor. Dean crossed his arms and took a step forward until the tips of his boots were in the edge of the mud. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that much of the activity behind him had stopped as others turned to watch. A small group was already gathered near the ambulance gurney on the road behind him, ready to take Sam from the rescuer once the helicopter lifted him clear. Dean would climb the embankment and join them as soon as Sam was heading their way. He would knock them down if he had to. It was his hands that should ease Sam onto the gurney. He could at least do that much.

The portable radio in Percy's hand hummed with quick bursts of chatter between the crewman on the rope and the heavy chopper overhead. The rescuer was behind Sam, practically on top of him. Sam tilted his head, listening to instructions. He nodded and then slowly raised his arms overhead. A wide strop hung from the front of the rescuer's harness. He slipped it over Sam's arms and adjusted it to fit around Sam's chest as Sam crossed his arms over it. The man settled more securely around Sam, positioning himself to wrap his own arms and legs around Sam as soon as there was enough clearance from the mud. Sam's head nodded again and the man behind him gave a hand signal to the crew in the chopper above him.

The helicopter remained stationary as a winch inside of it started to slowly turn. The strop pulled taut and Dean held his breath. If the mud was loose enough this would be over in minutes.

Sam's head snapped back, and one look at his face froze Dean's blood. He turned to Percy, his eyes wide and panic-stricken. "STOP THEM!"

Percy yelled into his portable radio but his words were drowned out by Sam's scream. Dean was ankle deep in the mud before a rough grip on his arm hauled him backwards. He fought the hands, his eyes fixed on his brother's sagging form.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"You come off as soon as I say, you got that Dean?" Percy's glare would have been a lot more effective if he wasn't still pale from the helicopter's failed rescue attempt. Dean dropped his eyes to the ground and nodded. He was having a tough time looking at the bruise on Percy's cheek. Percy had waved off Dean's quiet apology, saying it wasn't needed. He got it. Dean wasn't thinking too clearly in those first moments after their attempt to get Sam went rather spectacularly down the crapper.

Dean didn't blame Percy for what happened, even Dean had agreed that the try for a quick rescue had been necessary. The rain was moving closer and every second increased the danger of another slide. Dean had merely been desperate to reach his brother and Percy had been in the unenviable position of trying to stop him singlehandedly until additional men had reached them.

"I need to see my brother, Perce," Dean repeated, his voice quiet.

Percy might have understood Dean's motives, but Dean's temporary loss of control made it that much harder to convince Percy that he wouldn't get in the way of the next rescue attempt. "I know that son, but if you don't listen to me you're gonna slow things down. And that ain't gonna be good for Sam. As soon's the tripod's set and the hose is pulled you get out of the way."

Dean nodded his head jerkily and Percy stared at him for a couple of seconds before waving for his men to let Dean through. The trench rescue truck had contained large sheets of plywood that the rescue crews had carefully placed on the mud to create a walkway to Sam's position and working platforms around him. The wood distributed the weight over the mud's surface allowing them to move personnel and equipment to Sam's side. Crew members in 'drysuits' were already on the platform setting up a tripod that would be used to lift Sam out of the mud.

Dean had balked at first at the idea of once again trying to lift his brother from the mud—he would be hearing that scream in his nightmares for a long time—until Percy had explained the differences from the earlier attempt. A rescue rope would run from a harness around Sam to a pulley on the tripod above him. A crew on solid ground would man the line. With the help of a directional change pulley and a simple mechanical advantage system they would be able to lift Sam gently and slowly out of the mud, an inch at a time if necessary. While one crew lifted, a second crew would man a small fire hose that they were preparing to stretch to the platform. The long wand-like nozzle on the end of the hose would be pushed into the mud next to Sam's body and water pumped through it would loosen the mud's hold on Sam. There would be constant communication between the crews, with input from a paramedic stationed at Sam's side to monitor his condition.

Percy's earlier warning had been accurate. The rescue was a slow process, even with the extra personnel that had poured onto the scene. He couldn't fault the people who were working to set up the rescue systems, they were all working as quickly as they could. The feeling that time was running out was pressing heavily on everyone on the scene.

The plywood moved under Dean's feet and he stepped carefully from one piece to another. Taking his time as he crossed the makeshift walkway to his brother's side was almost physically painful, but if he knocked things out of place, if he slowed the preparations down… His heartbeat raced faster the closer he got to his brother. He couldn't see Sam past a kneeling medic and he fought the urge to run the last few feet.

And then he was there, falling to his knees in front of his brother and swallowing past the boulder sized lump in his throat. The platform stopped short of his body, leaving enough of the mud around him uncovered for the rescuers to have room to work. Sam's eyes were closed, a cervical collar holding his head still. His face was pale, his skin trembling lightly. Someone had wiped the traces of mud from his face, scraping much of the heavy coating from the parts of his body that they could reach before draping a silver space blanket over his shoulders.

"Hey," Dean said softly. Sam's eyes opened slowly and he blinked owlishly at Dean. The tense lines etched into his face eased slightly at the sight of his brother. "I always pictured you as more the Nehru collar type," Dean said, pointing to the collar.

Sam grinned tiredly and freed his left hand from the confines of the silver blanket, reaching across the mud. His sleeve flapped open where it had been cut almost all the way to his shoulder, exposing his arm up to the blood pressure cuff wrapped around his bicep. Dean bit back a curse at the wealth of bruises already springing to vivid life along its muscular length.

Dean grasped the hand in both of his. It was cold and clammy and Dean held it tight with his left hand while his right began to chafe the back of it, trying to rub warmth into it. "How you doing, Sammy?"

"Peachy," Sam said breathlessly.

"Liar," Dean grinned.

"Learned from…best." Sam coughed lightly and gasped for air. His grip tightened on Dean's hand as his eyes squeezed shut, his forehead creased with the effort to breathe.

Dean turned to the medic, fighting to stay calm. "Is he okay?"

She moved efficiently as she spoke, slipping an oxygen mask over Sam's face. "He's doing fine. His blood pressure is holding and we've been having a nice chat, right Sam?"

Sam's breathing evened out and his eyes blinked lazily open, but Dean's fear edged up a notch when it seemed to take a moment before he could focus on Dean again.

"The mud's just putting a little pressure on his chest right now," she continued "and he's a little chilly, but he knows he just has to hang tough a little while longer and we'll have him out of here and warmed up. You're gonna do that for me and Dean, right Sam? You're gonna hang tough a little while longer?"

She turned to Dean with a meaningful look and he nodded. He leaned forward over the mud until his forehead was almost touching Sam's, tucking the cold hand in his grasp against his chest. "We're gonna get you out of here Sammy, but here's the deal," he said softly. "You gotta fight, man. You gotta hold on and give us a little more time. I know you feel like you've got no reason to," Dean's voice caught in his throat and he swallowed hard. "But you've got to do it for me. Okay Sammy? For me. I need you to get my ass out of trouble. Okay?"

He pulled back slightly so he could meet his brother's eyes, keeping Sam's hand tucked against him. Sam's gaze searched his face. The hope was clear in the moisture filling the hazel eyes, the doubt just as clear in his lowered eyebrows. "I mean it Sam. We'll play it your way. Whatever you want to do."

Dean's shoulder tensed when a gentle weight came to rest on it. "Dean? We're about ready here buddy. We're gonna need you out of the way so's we can work."

He looked up at Doug standing next to him with the long nozzle in his hand and gave a quick nod. One of the men protected by a drysuit stood to the side, ready to slip a harness around Sam's chest.

Dean leaned forward again, this time resting his forehead against Sam's. His right hand moved up to cup the back of Sam's head, fingers working their way through the stiff strands of mud coated hair until he could actually feel the chilled flesh under it. For the second time that day his mind threw him back to the muddy ground of Cold Oak and his stomach quaked. He didn't have any souls left to sell.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean was numb as he crossed back over the plywood, his eyes fixed on the point where the edge of the mud reached the more solid ground of the embankment. He was careful to stay clear of the colorful orange rope and small hose that stretched its length. Dark spots began to bloom on the top of the wood, the pattern wide and random as the first drops of light rain began to fall.

The tension filling the air around them kicked up a notch. Police barricading the section of washed out roadway above them had confirmed the instability of the remaining hillside. Their fears of a second slide were legitimate, the danger to Sam and every one of the rescuers on the mud, real.

He was just reaching the embankment's gentle slope when the small hose running across the ground seemed to come to life, undulating like a snake as the first surge of water filled it.

"Okay, you've got water. Just give the word. Everybody not directly involved with the rescue clear this channel." Percy dropped his portable radio back to his side and nodded as Dean joined him. The big man's gray eyes remained on the small group still out on the platform. The pump on the engine in back of them revved louder and there was a small flurry of activity around Sam's hidden form. Seconds ticked by and Dean jammed his hands into his pockets to still the small tremors running through them.

Percy's radio crackled softly. "Okay Chief, we're ready for them to start lifting. Real slow." A man standing partway out on the wooden walkway straightened his shoulders when Percy nodded to him. The man glanced back and forth between the platform and the group on the road before taking in a deep breath to yell. Around them the peripheral chatter died away until the only sound was the steady rumble from the engine's motor and the pump it was powering.

"PLATFORM READY?"

"Platform ready!" drifted over the mud.

"READY TO LIFT?"

Dean looked over his shoulder anticipating the answer from the group holding the rope up on the road. The lump in his throat that he had managed to clear on the platform came back full force. Even though this part of the rescue technically belonged to the neighboring company's trench rescue team, they had manned the rope with men from Percy's station. Men who had worked at Sam's side in the valley. Men who had earned the right to be the ones to lift him. An officer overseeing them nodded to Jake, and it was the small man's voice that rang out. "READY TO LIFT!"

The man on the walkway looked back and forth one last time before yelling the command that got them started. "SLOW AND STEADY! LIFT!"

Dean withdrew into himself, fighting to keep sane while he silently watched other people working to save his little brother. He was left with just brief impressions of the rescue itself.

The ropes and pulleys moved slowly, constant communication flowing over the radios and through the air. Progress was made in small increments, sometimes in the steady rise of several inches, sometimes an inch at a time. The men in drysuits were on their knees, their arms reaching down into the mud to grasp at Sam's clothes as they gently helped to lift him. A backboard was pressed to Sam's back, keeping him straight as he was raised, his body—so slowly—covering more and more of the board, until, an eternity later, his head was almost to the top. A small place in the back of Dean's mind wondered if they had an extra long board out there. Something Sasquatch sized.

Finally their hands were on Sam's ankles, gently pulling his feet from the mud—where were his shoes? They laid the backboard down and the bodies on the platform closed around it like a curtain, hiding Sam from view as they worked. It took a minute before the medic broke away from the group and turned to face the embankment. Dean's breath caught in his throat in the quiet moment before she lifted her hand and gave the 'ok' sign.

The rain began to fall harder, and at first Dean thought it was the sound of the drops hitting the mud, beating at the wooden sheets. A rhythmic noise that grew in volume. Panic bit deep for just a second when he realized it wasn't the rain and he feared another slide was fast approaching. Until he noticed it was coming from in back of him and he looked over his shoulder. Emergency workers, support personnel…a small crowd lined the road behind him, their hands in motion. They were applauding the rescuers on the platform, applauding his brother's survival.

Dean wasn't sure when his knees had hit the mud, but kneeling seemed like a good idea. Just until they got Sam off the platform. They weren't tears on his face, it was only the rain.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N **It's not just in movies. During rope rescues someone _will_ yell out to the different components of the operation to make sure crews are ready before the command is yelled to begin. At least that's the way we were trained. And I admit... I get a kick out of it—LOL—dang, I just love yelling 'BELAY READY'… yep. I'm a geek.

An even better 'it's not just in movies'—when a rope rescue is successfully completed, when the victim's feet actually touch the ground and they look okay, there is quite often spontaneous applause. It takes my breath away every dang time.

WOOOOHOOOO!! Just a few more days till Shenandoah!! I spent so long on Hozho I honestly feel like I'm gonna see the boys there. LOL

Stay safe y'all. I think this'll be wrapped up in one more chapter later this week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** As one brother's life hangs in the balance the other begins to understand the pain of being a helpless bystander as time runs out. Not all dangers are supernatural. Originally written before the start of season 3 for a SFTCOL(AR)S contest and now revised. Takes place about three months after 'the deal'.

**A/N: **Thank you so very very much to everyone who has taken an interest in this story. You have no idea how much the reviews and the story alerts mean to me. I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to reply to the latest reviews. We've been a bit frantic trying to get ready for Shenandoah. So I should also warn you, I'm sorry for any typos or mistakes in this chapter. I promised I would post it this week, so I was up overnight writing a good portion of it. We're blasting off in less than an hour –gulp—so I'm rushing a bit to get it posted. I hope it comes out okay.

I hope I can get online while we're away to drop people a line. In the meantime please know I treasure each and every comment sent my way. Seriously. Do you think I would have been up all night if the people who are giving the story a shot didn't mean so much to me? LOL

**Warnings**: Spoilers for AHBL and maybe slightly for season 3. But not really. Geez…wishy washy much? LOL And the usual cursing.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story. Well, that and all the great people I've met in the fandom.

From Chapter 2:

_Finally their hands were on Sam's ankles, gently pulling his feet from the mud—where were his shoes? They laid the backboard down and the bodies on the platform closed around it like a curtain, hiding Sam from view as they worked. It took a minute before the medic broke away from the group and turned to face the embankment. Dean's breath caught in his throat in the quiet moment before she lifted her hand and gave the 'ok' sign._

_The rain began to fall harder, and at first Dean thought it was the sound of the drops hitting the mud, beating at the wooden sheets. A rhythmic noise that grew in volume. Panic bit deep for just a second when he realized it wasn't the rain and he feared another slide was fast approaching. Until he noticed it was coming from in back of him and he looked over his shoulder. Emergency workers, support personnel…a small crowd lined the road behind him, their hands in motion. They were applauding the rescuers on the platform, applauding his brother's survival._

_Dean wasn't sure when his knees had hit the mud, but kneeling seemed like a good idea. Just until they got Sam off the platform. They weren't tears on his face, it was only the rain._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**As the Clock Winds Down Chapter 3**

Sam floated in a cocoon. To say he was warm and pain free would have been nice, but it would have been a lie. He was miserably cold, shudders wracking his body and bringing to life every bruise and pulled muscle. Exhaustion pulled at him, begging him to slip away, but the pain of broken ribs held him in place. It was a building ache, livened up by an occasional buzz-saw cut of deep pain.

He fought to hold in a groan as his body was jostled from side to side, the hard board under him being carried over a less than stable surface. Voices faded in and out around him as hands worked to steady him. They were gentle and caring, but none were familiar. None had the power to anchor him.

And then it was there. A soft voice that reached his core and warmed it. He could hear it through the hum that filled his head, keeping pace next to him as the head of the board tilted slightly upward. There were grunts of effort as the board moved higher, until it was set onto a solid, level surface. Almost immediately there was a familiar touch on the side of his face, reminding him that there were other sensations besides pain. The gentle brush of a calloused finger wiped the gathering raindrops from his eyes and pushed his damp bangs from his forehead.

Sam's eyelids fluttered, lifted. The gray clouds over him were somehow calming, and then Dean was there, his reddened eyes looking down at Sam. "Hey bitch."

Sam smiled, just a slight quirk of the lips, but Dean must have seen it through the oxygen mask. His answering grin was warm, if a little shaky. The comfort Sam found in that smile was simple and basic. He had lost count of the number of times they'd done this to each other, scaring the hell out of each other with close calls. The one constant that pulled them through was that no matter how deep the pit they fell into, the other was always there to ease their way back.

A cold chill snuck its way down Sam's back on the heels of that thought. It was like the point when you wake from a pleasant dream and reality comes creeping back in to steal the hazy happiness away. The smile faded and Sam's eyes slid shut.

"Hey…hey…c'mon Sam, don't you go anywhere. Open your eyes and look at me."

Dean's voice was soft, cajoling, it was big brother trying to make everything okay. But there was only one way that Dean could make this okay. Sam forced his eyes open and waited for the world to stop spinning before he spoke. He ignored everyone else around them, the poking and prodding of people wearing gloves and wielding stethoscopes, scissors shredding his shirt and sticky pads being placed on his chest. He fixed his eyes on Dean's face and struggled to get the words out and past the oxygen mask. Dean leaned close when he started to talk.

"Did you mean it?" He watched Dean's eyes, looking for the truth. "What you said…out there. Did…you…mean it?" It became harder to talk as the pain around his ribs bit deep into his belly and up to his shoulder. "We do it…my way?"

Dean's eyes flickered away for just a split second, but it was enough. Sam barely heard the words Dean spoke. He didn't need to. "We'll talk about it after you see a doctor. Okay Sam?"

Sam wanted to be angry, he wanted to push Dean away, but he found himself grabbing onto Dean's wrist instead, his fingers looking for something to hold onto as pain tore at him, hot and sharp, and he bit down on a groan. "Dean…hurts…"

"Sam? Sammy?!" Dean's voice reverberated with fear. "What's going on? What's the matter with him?"

"Pressure's dropping—"

"Tachycardic—"

Dean's hand was on the top of his head, stroking. Sam tried to hold on to that comfort as the world went dark and crashed around him.

"Get that line started—"

"Marked rigidity—"

"We're out of time here, people! Let's GO!"

He was moving and Dean's touch was gone, leaving him alone in the dark.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean looked down at the solid hand resting against his chest and then up into Percy's concerned face. He took a step backwards, shaking his head. "It's okay, dude. I knew I couldn't go with them," he said, his voice low and strained. He ran his hand over his face and took a deep breath. What the hell had just happened?

Percy's hand moved from his chest to his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. "The hospital's close Dean, they'll have him there in no time. Damn fine institution. Best trauma center in the state."

His mouth didn't seem to want to cooperate with a polite response and so Dean kept it shut, just nodding his head. His eyes tracked the activity around the helicopter sitting just far enough down the empty road to prevent its rotor wash from disturbing the rescue equipment. The ambulance and helicopter crews made quick work of transferring the backboard from the ambulance to the chopper and then the boxy vehicle was moving away from the slick aircraft.

Almost immediately the helicopter's rotors began to turn with a loud whine, the sound increasing as they picked up speed. The large blades scattered raindrops in every direction as the chopper lifted gently from the ground. It hovered a few feet above the pavement for a couple of seconds before climbing away at an angle. The pilot banked it into a graceful turn and then it was heading away from them, pushing powerfully through the gray afternoon sky.

"You're lucky Janie was flying today. Some of the pilots won't take off if there's a cloud three states over, but she's too damn good to let a little weather stop her." Percy scowled and looked up at the heavy clouds over them. "I'm real sorry I can't take you to the hospital myself, son. But I can't leave here. These people," he jerked his head at the crews rushing to stow away all of the rescue gear "they're my responsibility. And if there's another slide it could push across this road."

Dean pulled the Impala's keys from his pocket, his eyes already searching for the big car in the middle of the emergency vehicles. "Take care of your people, Perce. I'll get myself to the hospital." Dean tried not to bite the words out. He owed the man more than that. He just…he couldn't…he had to get to the hospital. _Now._ The look on Sam's face before things had gone south had been everything that Dean hadn't let himself think about for the past three months. "I just need the directions," he finished, his voice softer.

"Jake'll drive you there in my Yukon," Percy informed him as though it was a done deal.

The hell with that. He could get himself to the damn hospital. Contrary to appearances through this whole ordeal, Dean was not helpless. "I just need the directions, Perce." He didn't care if he was biting the words out this time.

The annoyance he expected to see on the fire chief's face never materialized. The look Percy gave him was sympathetic, and a little too perceptive. "I'm thinkin you want to get your ass over there as quick as you can, and to do that you need Jake takin you in the Yukon. That Chevy of yours is a beaut, but the most direct roads between here and the hospital are a mess right now. The Yukon'll get you through them, and it'll get you past the police barriers. One of my guys will take the Chevy around the long way to the hospital for you and then hitch a ride back with Jake."

Dean's shoulders slumped as he silently handed the Impala's keys to Percy.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Level 1 Trauma Center or not, a waiting room is a waiting room. The modern facility's furniture was a little plusher and the decorating a little brighter than Dean was used to, but the atmosphere of fear, hope…despair…that cloaked the room was depressingly familiar. Except the emotions were maybe even a little sharper here, a little more intense. Trauma centers caught the rockiest cases. Dean was grateful that it was surprisingly empty. He wasn't sure how he would have handled being mobbed by such strong emotions. It was tough enough keeping his own reined in so tightly without seeing them mirrored on other faces. Minor complaints were being routed to other hospitals, leaving the trauma center free for more serious cases. There weren't too many yet, but that could change if the dam went.

Dean's chin rested on his steepled fingers as he stared at the wall opposite him. He didn't bother with acknowledging Jake as the red haired man settled on the couch next to him with a tired sigh.

"You want that freshened up?" Jake nodded at the half full coffee mug on the table next to Dean and blew softly across the top of his own brimming cup as he waited for a reply.

Dean gave a quick shake of his head and the small man sighed again as he sank further into the couch's cushions. The hunter was grateful that the firefighter withheld any falsely optimistic platitudes. Because they didn't know that Sam was going to be okay. They didn't know a damn thing yet.

The staff had heard about the excruciating rescue and they were being overly solicitous, offering him coffee in a real mug and towels to blot at his soggy hair. But in the one area that mattered most to Dean their efforts fell woefully short. Information. If he had to hear one more time that 'the doctors are working on him, I'm sure they'll come talk to you as soon as they can'…

His breath caught in his throat when Jake sat up suddenly next to him, and he slowly raised his eyes to the doors leading to the treatment rooms. As much as he was craving news, he wasn't sure he was ready to hear it. Disappointment washed over him when he realized that the doors were still closed and Jake's attention had been caught by the man coming in from the parking lot. The man looked familiar and it only took a second to place the face. One of Percy's men.

The newcomer stopped in front of them and handed the Impala's keys to Dean. "It's in Lot B. Any news yet?" His expression softened when Dean just shook his head. "Damn, that sucks," he said softly and Dean let out a quick snort of amusement at the blunt but accurate sentiment.

"You could say that again," he muttered with the hint of a smile.

The man's mouth twisted apologetically. "I hate to do this, but we gotta get going. Jakey, we gotta fly, bro. The dam ain't looking good and they need us in staging if it goes."

Jake put his coffee down and rose to his feet with a groan. "I'm gettin too old for this shit,' he scowled. "Dean, you got my number, you got the chief's, you got the station's…keep us in the loop, okay? We'll be calling in to the hospital when we can." He held his hand out and waited until Dean grasped it before finishing with a quiet plea. "I'm serious here man. We all wanna know how he's doin."

Dean clamped down on the emotion rising in his chest. "I'll let you know when I hear something," he promised, surprised to realize he meant it.

Things were quiet after the two men left and Dean went back to staring at the wall as the mud on the bottom of his legs slowly dried and began to fall to the floor in large flakes that settled gently onto the ground around him. Jake's presence hadn't exactly been a comfort, but it had been the incentive he needed to keep his thoughts under control. There were certain things he just wouldn't let himself think about with an audience.

He refused to look at the clock. The more time that passed, the closer his fear edged to panic. He couldn't lose Sam again. What kind of friggin cosmic joke would that be?

He didn't regret the deal, even if he'd only gained Sam three months. The deal would have been worth it even if it had just gained Sam an extra day. Taking care of Sammy had been the driving force in his life ever since the kid had been placed in his arms when he was four years old. It was his obligation. A duty based as much in responsibility as in love. It was what made him who he was. When Sammy had died in Cold Oak… God. He'd let everybody down. Mom. Dad. Sam. Sam was all he had left, and he'd let his brother slip away. It just wasn't in him to let it end like that. Not if there was _anything_ he could do to save Sam. _Anything_ he could give. _No matter_ the cost to himself. Sam just didn't get it. Dean had had no choice.

There was a certain elation, a certain freedom, after the deal. He could never feel like he had failed Sam again. Hell, he'd sacrificed _everything_ for Sam. He'd gotten his brother back. After that all that was left was to ride his last year out having some fun and kicking some butt at Sam's side. Go out in a blaze of glory. He'd earned it.

Dean had no doubt that Sam could survive on his own. He'd already done it for years when he went to Stanford. He hadn't just survived, he'd owned that place. Full ride, beautiful girl, friends. He'd done it before, he could do it again. Hell, without Dean dragging him from place to place Sammy might even be able to cobble together a little bit of the life he really wanted.

Only problem was, Sam didn't seem to be with the program. He'd known Sam would have a tough time with everything at first, but he should have been accepting the inevitable by now. Instead he seemed determined to win a Darwin award. Today…Ah crap. Today had been tough.

Dean leaned forward, resting his forehead on the heels of his hands and looking down at the patches of dried mud on his pants. Today had torn some things up inside of him. It wasn't just the fear, it was the helplessness. Having to just stand back and leave his brother's fate in someone else's hands. Not being able to lift a finger to help while his brother was dying. It hurt with a unique kind of pain. He wasn't stupid. He'd known that every minute that passed, every second, had brought Sam closer to death.

And all he could do was watch. And curse. And feel a little bit more of himself die with each passing, useless, second.

It felt like someone kicked Dean solidly in the gut, his breath pushing out in a grunt. Nausea swept through him and he was afraid for a second that he would be sick. He slid his hands up into his hair and fisted them, tugging, feeling the burn at the roots.

He had spent a day helpless while his brother faded away and it had left a part of him tattered and torn. A day.

Sam had been dealing with the same torture for three months now. With another nine to go.

Legs clad in blue scrubs moved into his line of vision and halted in front of him. "Mr. Norris?"

Dean had been particularly proud of that name. Sam had just rolled his eyes.

The doctor sat down next to him and Dean lowered his hands to his lap and blew out a long breath, preparing himself.

"I'm Dr. Valdez. I was with your brother until he was taken into surgery."

Surgery. Dean's hands tightened on his thighs, his fingers looking for something to hold onto.

"Sam suffered two broken ribs, numerous contusions and abrasions, some sprains, and mild hypothermia. There's no indication of aspirated mud, but we'll be watching for it. The biggest danger is internal bleeding. We performed a procedure called a peritoneal lavage and it confirmed there was bleeding in his abdomen. Quite frankly, we didn't feel Sam was stable enough to risk the time that would have been needed for a CT to pinpoint the source, so we took Sam right in to surgery. I'm sorry we left you out here waiting but I wanted to wait until I had some real news before coming out to talk to you."

It was difficult to pull in a deep breath, but Dean managed. His eyes strayed to the treatment area doors as though he'd be able to see his brother hidden behind them. "And?"

"The laparoscopy found what we expected, damage to the spleen. It's not uncommon in this type of injury."

Dean looked directly at the doctor and cut to the chase. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"The length of time between the actual injury and treatment allowed things to reach a critical stage, but, oddly enough, the mud also helped. The pressure helped to stabilize his BP. Once that pressure was gone, Sam crashed." Dr. Valdez smiled. "Luckily, by then our chopper was ready and waiting. It saved his life."

Pressure built in Dean's chest, but he refused to embrace the feeling yet. "Saved his life? You're saying he's going to be okay?"

"There are no guarantees," the doctor cautioned, "but now that they're getting the bleeding under control he's stabilized nicely and the surgery is proceeding smoothly. His surgeon is even hopeful that the spleen can be saved. Sam's a strong young man," the doctor shook his head with a bemused smile, "and from what I've heard he's quite the fighter. We're going to have to keep a close eye on him after surgery to make sure the damage to the spleen is the sole source of the bleeding, but…barring complications…I think it's safe to be cautiously optimistic."

No one knew just how strong, and stubborn, Sam was better than Dean. He dropped his guard and let the feeling sweep through him. The emotion was uncommon enough in his life to cause a tingle down his spine. Hope.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The monitor next to Sam's bed beeped softly and steadily. Dean was no expert, but the flashing numbers looked good to him. He'd spent enough time in hospital rooms to know when a blood pressure was too low, a heart rate too high.

Sam had barely moved since Dean had settled onto the chair next to him. He couldn't pull his eyes away from the still form, letting himself really look at his brother for the first time in three months. The hair was a little longer and more ragged that usual, the bones in his face sharper. The most disturbing change was around his eyes and mouth. Tiny lines were just becoming visible at the corners of Sam's mouth, and they sure as hell hadn't been etched there by Sam's brilliant smile. They were the slowly forming scars of a mouth perpetually twisted in pain and grief.

Sam's eyes…how long had it been since Dean had seen that light in them? The humor, the quick mind, the unending curiosity, the concern for everyone who crossed their path. That light in his eyes had been slowly dimming, the loss keeping pace with the growing shadows staining the skin around them.

Dean glanced at the clock. Another five minutes and they were going to kick him out for a while. His best smiles weren't budging the ICU nurses at all. His eyes stayed fixed on the second hand, watching it sweep steadily forward, and the tension around his mouth began to ease. They'd gotten to reset the game clock and it was a hell of a feeling. He was gonna try like hell not to waste the second chance.

A low moan pulled his attention back to the bed. Sam's head was slowly shifting on the pillow, the skin around his eyes tightening as he tried to open them.

"Ssshhh…take it easy Sammy, you're okay." Dean leaned forward and placed his hand over the compression bandage wrapped around Sam's right hand and wrist.

Sam's face turned towards him and he blinked slowly, just tiny strips of hazel appearing briefly. "De…Dean…" His voice was a breathy whisper, muffled as though it was working its way through layers of sleep.

"The one and only, bitch," Dean grinned. "Just relax. They're only letting me sit in here for a little while each hour, so they're gonna kick me out in a minute. But I'll be right out in the waiting room. Okay?" He ran his thumb over Sam's exposed knuckles. "And I'll be right back in here as soon as they let me again."

Sam's eyes slid shut and he sighed softly, his right hand lifting slightly in acknowledgment of Dean's touch. It slowly lowered and Sam went so still that Dean thought he had fallen back to sleep. He was surprised when Sam grimaced, fighting to open his eyes again. "Dean…talk." The slices of hazel fixed on him this time, demanding attention.

"Relax Sam," Dean said softly. "We've got time. We'll figure something out, Sam. I promise. We've got time."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Soft voices from the upper corner of the room drew Dean's attention as he came through the door. The back of the hospital bed was raised, propping Sam up so that he could see the television easily.

"Girl's Gone Wild video?" Dean asked as he walked to the side of the bed. He sipped from the Starbucks cup in his hand and looked up at the television mounted near the ceiling. More news footage of people being ferried in flat boats and emergency personnel walking down flooded streets.

"More like Nature Gone Wild." Sam aimed the remote control at the set and muted the volume. "So, the dam went, huh?"

The corner of Dean's mouth twisted in a small grimace. "Yeah. I talked to Percy. He said it wasn't pretty, but at least nobody got hurt. Put on channel six. I was watching it in the diner and you can see the guys in the background on one of the clips they keep repeating." Dean settled himself onto the chair next to the bed and shook his head. "We're damn lucky we weren't the stars of the six o'clock news. Perce said the TV crews around here usually love stories like your rescue. If the weather hadn't been so iffy we would have had news choppers all over us."

"Henrickson would have thought it was an early Christmas gift," Sam muttered.

"Some of the guys are probably stopping by later. I told Perce you weren't exactly up for visitors yet but he said they just want to say hi. See that you're okay with their own eyes."

"Yeah, sure, that's fine," Sam said, easing himself down slightly in the bed. He wrapped his right arm across his abdomen and his movements were slow and guarded. His lips thinned into a straight line that didn't relax until he was settled into his new position.

"You want me to tell them to hold off?" Dean asked. Hell, between the broken ribs and the surgery he knew Sam had to be hurting. He looked a lot better than when Dean had left in the morning after seeing him settled into a regular room, but he was still pale and the smudges under his eyes were so dark they looked bruised.

"Nah, I want the chance to thank them."

Dean looked down at the coffee cup in his hand and nodded silently. He was surprised that the knowledge that he hadn't been a true part of the rescue still hurt. "Yeah, Sam, look…about yesterday…"

"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly.

"Huh?" Dean's head snapped up and he looked at Sam with his eyebrows raised. "What do you have to be sorry about?"

Sam bit at his bottom lip for a second and kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling as though he was afraid to look at Dean. "You were right that I've been careless lately," he finally said softly. "I acted without thinking and I could have gotten you hurt…" He took a shaky breath and turned his head so that he was looking at Dean. "I put a lot of people in danger." His eyes went wide at a sudden thought. "Hell, Dean. What if a news crew had gotten pictures? I would have led the feds right to us!"

"Dude, you thought somebody needed help. Stop beating yourself up. Yeah, you could have put a little more thought into it, but you were trying to help somebody. And even if you'd been more careful, what would have been different? You'd still have been down on that slope, except maybe with a rope around you. With the force of that mud, a rope tied around you might have killed you." Dean looked at Sam through eyes that narrowed at a chilling thought. "You're not telling me you purposely put yourself in danger, are you? I swear to God, Sammy, if you're planning on putting me through this over and over for the next nine months I'm gonna kick your ass." Dean couldn't help the steadily increasing intensity of his voice. He had to get through to his stubborn as a jackass brother. "I won't let you just throw your life away because…" he trailed off and continued in a whisper "because you don't want to be alone. You're stronger than that, Sammy."

Sam looked away, his jaw clenching stubbornly. Dean stood up and perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress. "Look, Sam. I get it," he said quietly. "I get how tough the last couple of months have been. Damn, Sam. Yesterday almost killed me when I couldn't do anything to help you. And I realized that that's what you've been going through for months. So I think we could, maybe, work something out. But Sam, no matter what happens, you can't give up. If there's no getting out of this thing…you will make it on your own. You _are_ strong enough."

"You sure about that, Dean?" Sam asked with a sad, crooked smile. "You so sure that I'll be fine without you? Because I'm not." Sam looked away, shaking his head. The smile faded when he looked back at Dean.

"It's not because I'm afraid to be alone. It's not even the fact that it would destroy me to lose you." Sam lifted a hand and wiped impatiently at his eyes. He took a deep breath and lifted his chin, facing his brother. "It seems like I've been scared forever, Dean. Scared of myself and what I could become. Since the first time I had a vision. Even Dad…even he believed I could go darkside. Turns out it wasn't just paranoia, huh?" Sam chuckled bitterly. It was a broken sound and Dean had to fight the urge to reach for him. "In Cold Oak, when I fought Jake…I came so close to giving in to it." He looked at Dean with a shaky smile. "But I didn't. I beat that yellow eyed bastard by not giving in to what he wanted." Sam shook his head, the smile still in place. "I beat him. And then Jake took me out of the equation. Made sure I wouldn't have to go through that again. Hell, I didn't want to die, but better that than turning into the kind of thing we hunt. Turning into something _worse_ than what we hunt. Maybe hurting you, hurting other people." Sam shuddered. He looked away from Dean, and when he continued talking it was in a monotone that chilled Dean. "But now I'm back in the middle of it. Fighting not to go bad. Become a monster. And I don't know if I have the strength to fight it again."

"You beat it before, Sam. You'll beat it again."

Sam looked at Dean with the wide moist eyes of a five year old, but his words were blunt. "I wasn't alone when I beat it before. I had you. I don't think I can do it without you." He pulled his eyes away from Dean, staring down at his lap. "And I can't take a chance on becoming a monster. Not without someone to stop me."

"Sammy, I can't take a chance on losing you again. Hell, it's not taking a chance, it's a certainty. If I try to get out of the deal the cross roads bitch will take you away so damn quick…I can't do that Sam. I can't…I _won't_ sign your death warrant."

Sam's eyes squeezed shut, his face twisting with a pain that wasn't physical. Dean rested his fingertips lightly on Sam's arm. "So I can't be any part of it. I can't know anything about it." He waited for Sam's eyes to open and fix on him, understanding slowly edging into them before he continued. "Hey, what I don't know about can't hurt _you_," he finished with a small grin.

"You won't stand in my way any more?" Sam asked warily.

"I won't stand in your way," Dean hedged "so long as you don't involve me. If you want, we don't have to be glued at the hip quite as much. All I know is I like to play pool and my geeky brother likes libraries. I don't know what he's doing in there. You get what I'm saying? I'm not going to stop you from 'going to the library', as long as you leave me out of it, and don't do anything stupid."

Sam looked up at him, biting at his bottom lip.

"So, what do you think, Sam? I can't do any more than that. Is it a compromise you can live with?"

"For now," Sam said. The tension drained from his shoulders, and with it the last bits of energy that had kept him functioning when he should have been sleeping. The corner of his mouth twitched up in a small grin. "So how long is it going to take you to go get my laptop? And don't you need to go play some pool or something?" he asked lazily, his eyes at half mast.

Dean took the TV remote from the edge of the bed and moved back to the chair. "First you get some sleep, then we'll talk about letting geek boy loose."

"Deal," Sam said, letting his eyes close completely.

A small smile played over Dean's lips as he unmuted the TV and settled into the surprisingly comfortable seat. He prayed he hadn't just made a terrible mistake. But things had had to change, or Sam wouldn't have made it through the year. Now, for the first time in a long time, there was hint of that light back in Sam's eyes. Maybe there was hope for his little brother. Hell, if he stopped standing in Sam's way…maybe there was hope for him too.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N** Well, I hope you liked it. Remember it was originally written before the start of season 3. Even though I did major revisions on this rewrite, I was stuck with the original premise. I tried to fit it into what we knew about the time after the deal. And for me at least, it answered some questions about all the times we see Sam doing research with Dean off on his own.

And now I'm off. My backpack is packed and there are trails calling me. You all have a safe week!


End file.
